All At Once
by MyWaywardWinchester
Summary: AU: Hustler!Dean, Homeless!Cas. "You always have a choice, Cas." Seattle's Most Wanted Dean Winchester takes a certain blue-eyed unemployed teenager under his wing and teaches him the hustling life. But what happens when a former ally turns latter foe? What will this mean for the state of Dean and Cas's newfound relationship? M for language, makeouts, and cutting themes.


**Some people stick around until your story is told. For Eve.**

Inspired by The Fray song…

All At Once

The sun beat down furiously on the figures shunting each other in the antechamber. Souls exchanged licentious moans, their echoes ringing out in the vacant corridor, bodies staining the walls with the imprints of voluptuous desire. His hand strayed south, cupping around his upper leg and delving into his inner thigh, taunting the already-scarlet muscle as he spread him apart. The other man ran his perspiring tongue across his parched lips, raking his eyes over the strapping figure. A simple demand turned into another gibe into his burning flesh as he thrust once more into his aching tissue. He let his hands fall from around his neck, sliding his digits down his naked torso—his primordial abrasions not enough to be a masquerade to his beautiful pastel skin—and grasped his belt buckle impiously.

"Brother," Benny growled somewhere in the back of his throat, "you're going to have to do better than that." He sunk his razorblade teeth into the crook of the Dean's neck unceremoniously. He seized the back of Benny's own, a whimpering noise emanating from his mouth. When he descended below his peripheral vision was when Benny received the genuine cry he was waiting for. Dean arced into the wall—trepidation still lingering in his system even after all these years— and his hands never released Benny's thick chocolate hair as he worked.

"Benny!" he cried, darkness nearly swallowing him whole as he enabled himself to succumb to the numbing sensation.

Voices resonated above them in the distance, to which Dean merely noted as commoners, until they found themselves captive in the confined area. Benny detected them first; backing away from the looming figures and ran into the wall behind him. He fell short and surrendered to the cuff links digging excruciatingly tight into his wrists. Dean pushed himself up off the wall, lashing his head from Benny to the armed officer.

"What the hell is this?" he yelled to no one in particular on the scene.

"Assault charges in ten different states," another suited fed responded brusquely for the broad-shouldered man, "better start choosing your boyfriends more wisely, son. And pull up your pants."

Dean was about to go off on the man, but reprimanded himself quickly, remembering that he could go to the penitentiary if he spoke up for Benny. Dean Winchester never got caught, that was his reputation, and he would keep it that way.

The flashing lights faded from view and Dean was left alone in the alleyway, wondering just how he managed to get entwined in his own predicaments.

* * *

Real trepidation coursed through his veins like adrenaline pumping an insomniac. Merely musing over the thought made his stomach churn with resentment. He couldn't even remember the last time he talked to him; that was the last thing on his mind.

In an audacious move, Dean grasped the gonorrhea-infested payphone and punched the number. The receiver picked up on the first dial. Flustered, he dialed again, only this time a younger voice picked up on the third chime.

"I'm sorry; I think you have the wrong number."

"I'm sorry; I think I have the wrong brother."

"Dean."

"Sam."

"I thought I told you not to call me," Sam said flatly.

Dean laughed disdainfully. "That's funny, because I remember telling you not to turn into a corporate asshole, but I guess—"

The younger brother delayed his disparaging response, "What do you want?"

"Sam, you know I wouldn't be calling unless I needed your help. So can we cut the crap for five minutes and just talk?" Dean sighed into the receiver, leaning his forearm against the machine, pressing his forehead upon the taut muscle.

"You've got two minutes."

"I need cash."

Sam scoffed into his landline, "What do you need cash for? Stealing car parts not as economically attractive as it was in Lawrence?"

"Stuff it Sammy," Dean growled, "I just need a couple hundred and you won't hear from me again... besides," he casted a crafty glance around the darkened ghetto street, his eyes catching a stranger's frosty eyes, "I have someone to do that for me."

The phone was silent for a moment. "You still live in that dump of an apartment?"

Dean resisted the urge to point out that not everyone could afford penthouses. "Yes."

"Forget it. Turn your shit around before you call me again." The dial tone played annoyingly in Dean's ear as he hung up the phone, hoping to God he had disinfectant at home. But first he wanted to see if the handsome stranger was interested in a job.

Imperiously, he grabbed his things and stalked after the man. He found the nearer he was to the handsome alien, the nearer he was to sheer perfection. His eyes were a vibrant blue, a golden ring entrancing around his round dilated pupils, and shaggy black neckline-length tresses for hair. Judging by his barely tattered clothes and smooth chin, he couldn't have been on the streets for very long. His initial approach was something much more charming in his head, but what really leaked out was:

"Hey! Are you hungry?"

* * *

Castiel didn't know why the stranger took him out to the diner, but his rumbling stomach had no complaints. Besides, while the company was odd, it was certainly better than some he had previously had. Taking his eyes off his hamburger he studied the man across from him. Sandy brown hair styled almost care-freely, but obviously had time spent over it. Dark emerald eyes flecked with tawny diamonds that shifted almost like pieces of sand in an hourglass. He realized he was staring and focused back on his food, hoping he hadn't been noticed.

"Like the view?"

Castiel couldn't tell if the guy was talking about the scenery or him. "Better than most I've had the chance of sharing a meal with."

Dean grinned and stole one of Castiel's fries, ignoring the ones on his own plate. Castiel tilted his head in slight annoyance, but decided against saying anything since the man was treating him. "So how long have you been on the streets...?" Dean's voice trailed off, letting the trench coat-wearing man finish his bite to answer.

"Castiel, and about three days; my assbutt of a landlord kicked me out for missing the rent by an hour."

Dean held back a snort, "Assbutt?"

"Yes."

"Okay, Cas,"—that was less of a mouthful than Castiel—"do you have a job?"

"No. My job required I had prior housing. I lost my house, lost my job, lost my life."

"Uh huh." Dean took a bite out of his own cheeseburger, flagging down the waitress for two orders of pie; he was feeling generous today. "Want one?"

Blue eyes shook his head. It took everything for Dean not to let out a bemused snort, though he ended up doing a bang-up job suppressing it, choking as he began to imagine the thought of Cas sinking his teeth ravenously into a bacon sandwich. Albeit the man wasn't speaking, he still wasn't eating as devoutly as he thought most men cornering the streets would. "Are you alright?"

Cas turned from his forlorn stare through the looking glass of the establishment to Dean's curious eyes. "What do you mean?"

"You seem," Dean sought after the right word to compensate for his rather unceremonious greeting earlier, "distracted."

Cas leaned in closer, as if to tell him a secret. However, what seeped from his mouth was anything but kind. "Look," he said bluntly, his raspy voice slicing the air like a disease, "I lost _everything. _Don't fucking expect anything more out of me." He tossed the crumbled paper napkin he had fisted in his hand, slid out from the booth and stalked away. Customers and employees alike exchanged commemorating glances as Dean hauled after Cas into the parking lot.

He stopped in his tracks, Cas a few feet ahead of him, one foot a directional to the vast distance, the other keeping him grounded, unsure of where to run. "I'm sorry," Dean shouted, raking a weary hand over his rough face. He pulled him in by the forearm, nearer to the building and further from the occupied lot. "Look, I shouldn't have said anything. You have your reasons, I have mine, and I respect that." Cas shifted his gaze at the pavement to Dean's marble green eyes.

"I'd like to hear them sometime," he said faintly, more considerate. Dean nodded just as he caught the reflection of a man glaring discreetly at the two of them before turning into the kitchen. "And I'm sorry too."

"And I would love to tell you sometime but right now," he slid his hand to clasp his shoulder, "we have to run."

Cas's eyes widened, shifting his eyes to the same place as Dean had, though failing to perceive what exactly he had seen. "What?"

"I think that guy just made me, we have to go," he said frantically, extending his other hand, "do you trust me?"

A beam of perspiration seeped from his glistening forehead, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Do I have a choice?"

Their feet thundered against the wet obsidian pavement, Dean's hand warm and tight in Castiel's own. His heart hammering behind his ribs, the sketchy city seeming to blur in the background as his strange benefactor pulled him along. It seemed like an hour had passed before they finally stopped running, but Castiel knew it was only around ten minutes. He let go of the guy's hand, pressing both of his own against his knees as he tried to regain his breath. "Who the hell are you?" He spat, irritation rich his veins at the strange events that he'd had to endure for a simple meal.

Dean wiped his brow of sweat, grasping Cas's arm and pulling him into a nearby alley.

"What are you—?"

Dean's hand covered his mouth; an angry glare shot his way. "Be quiet," he hissed, pressing his body against Castiel's as a car slowly drove by the street they had previously been standing at. Dean listened intently to the car, only stepping off from Cas once he was sure it was out of sight. "The name's Dean Winchester and I am Seattle's most wanted hustler. And I still have a job for you if you want it. But I would prefer to get off the street and back to my place where it's slightly drier."

Castiel's eyes widened at Dean's confession. "Why do you want to give me a job?"

"Because I'm out a right-hand man and you look like you could do with a bit of luck. And since I make my own luck, I'm willing to share." He held out his arm in a rather gentlemanly way, "Are you coming?"

Castiel stepped forward from the damp alley wall, "Do I have a choice?" he restated, taking Dean's arm to humor him.

"You always have a choice, Cas."

* * *

Dean's apartment was on the highest level of a three story building. The first distinguishable smell was of week-old takeout, and, judging by the opposing wall cemented in radar photographs, probably didn't clock much showering time in. Except that was the thing: Dean smelt magnificent. He could still feel his stone hips grinding into his, and his warm breath hammering through his mouth and receding just as quickly, all while thinly separated by his hands—

"Enjoying the view?" Peering over his shoulder was none other than a grinning Dean. Cas cleared his throat.

"I uh-no, I was just—how do you get all of these pictures?"

Dean laughed, shifting his six-foot stature to stand next to Cas. He crossed his arms and shot him a bemused glare. "Definitely not a fed," he muttered.

"What?"

"Hustling is an art," he explained judiciously, "You can't just mooch something off of someone and trust them not to crack under pressure when the government rolls in. Blackmailing is the name of the game; you have incriminating evidence, you're on the top of the totem pole."

"So you basically stalk people until they loan you money."

He shrugged, wandering into the cubicle that served as the kitchen. "Some people paint." He leant a hand into the fridge and tossed a bottle to the blue-eyed man.

"I don't drink," he deduced, holding out the beverage at arms-length. Dean found his way to Cas once more, clasping his shoulder in a congratulatory manner.

"Now you do," he winked. He motioned for Cas to sit beside him on the dark brown cushion that served as his couch. "How old are you, Cas?"

"Nineteen," he replied, shifting his weight on the battered piece of furniture.

Dean tapped his own unopened bottle before cracking the lid and swigging the contents down his throat.

"Nineteen is a little young to be facing the world alone," he said blatantly.

"What's your point?" Cas shot back defensively. Dean swallowed his last sip just as he threw up his hands.

"Nothing, look, I didn't bring you here to rehash the past..." He leaned in closer, observing the earthy oblivion in Cas's eyes intently. "I brought you here to offer you a future."

Cas's jaw clenched. If he did have a choice, it could be to walk out on everything… though he had already tried that several times, the manifold of scars on his forearms would paint the picture more vividly than he could in words. Luckily, Dean couldn't see them; they were veiled by layers of clothing and oppressed memories. He hasn't told a soul about them, and he doesn't intend to. It was bad enough that his parents gave him the look of disappointment, and since then he's been a leopard in society for almost a whole year. The one pact he made to himself prior to the eviction notice was that to never, under any desperate circumstances, do unto others as he's done to himself. He hasn't lied, stabbed, or talked down to anyone since.

"Cas, I said are you in?" Dean's voice came from seemingly the other end of the spectrum. Cas dispelled his musings and shifted his gaze to the older man who he could have sworn was sitting much closer to him than before.

He was almost positive he hadn't heard half of what Dean was saying, but somehow he didn't care. He inched forward and nodded. "I'm in."

* * *

He ended up crashing at Dean's that night. Not because he needed to, but because as crazy as it may sound, he did it for Dean. Although Dean had been quite content with him going off elsewhere for the night, there was something in his voice—a note of urgency—that kept him at bay. And there was something about Dean that was different, something buried underneath his charismatic charm.

Every so often, Cas stole a glance at the hustler in the bathroom mirror, his eyes consuming every aspect of his aesthetic front. He had more notable features like his auburn brown hair—so dense that Cas could probably card through his scalp and it would still be impermeable—and thick pursed lips rested on a jawline that would make a rectangle question its morals… but there was one thing about his face that intrigued him: his eyes. Not only did his pupils revolve around shamrock whorls, but the skin surrounding them was splintered, only in a way that made him look more profound and more aged than he really was. It made the teen question what was behind those hazel eyes, how much he's seen—

"Do you need a pillow?" Dean yelled from his neighboring room. Cas dismissed his staring long enough to answer his question.

"Y-yeah," he stammered not long before splashing cold water on his face and heading into his room. Out from the closet tumbled half a dozen pillows and a few casual attires clearly too broad-chested for Dean. Cas felt obligated to say something but kept his lips sealed.

Dean combed his fingers through his hair. "If you need a spare change of clothes, I know they might be a bit baggy b—"

"They're fine," Cas quickly interjected, earning him a shrug from the other man before he peeled off his shirt and handed it to Cas.

"Take it."

Cas's mouth ran agape as Dean's bare torso flashed before him. Minus a few benign abrasions around his ribcage, his chest was unblemished and completely masculine. It took all of the energy mustered inside him to banish the offering, blocking him with a swift gesture of his hand. "No, I couldn't."

Dean's left breast bulged in sync with his jaw. "Take it," he reiterated prudently, "it'll fit you better anyhow."

Cas grasped the object appreciatively not long before removing his own shirt that was sticking rather uncomfortably to his chest, and tossed it aside for the time being. Dean stared forlornly at the blue-eyed boy, biting back on his lower lip. Cas nearly craned his head before realizing why he was staring and choked back his own words.

Before he could escape into his own thoughts and run far away, Dean stepped closer, prudently seized one of his arms, and traced along the abrasions with his fingers. The slightly smaller man heaved a sigh he'd been suppressing since the moment he stepped foot into the apartment. He was vying not to cry the further his thumbs elevated. "Go ahead, tell me I'm completely psychotic and kick me out, that's what everyone's done—"

Dean cut him off, pulling him into a tight embrace. Cas wrapped his hands around Dean as soon as his nails began to drive into his hips. With his face in the palms of his hands, Dean pressed their foreheads together and exhaled simultaneously with Cas, whose tears had spilled disgracefully from his eyes.

Cas's heart rate accelerated and his breath nearly hitched somewhere in the back of his throat.

"Sleep with me tonight," he said carefully, his hands not leaving Cas's face until he responded with a simple understanding, a nod of his head. He grabbed his pillow and stalked after Dean, who was already crawling under the covers. Cas slipped in and laid a good distance apart, bunched up in the sheets, conforming to his stature curled in fetal-position. The sheets wavered and a strong pair of arms was around his waist, guarding his own. Cas shifted to interweave one of his hands with his and he fell asleep, then he soon too drifted into a short-lived slumber.

* * *

The kid was a pain in ass. Dean woke up the morning after to a cool bed, finding Cas curled up on the couch with his shirt on the arm. He was wearing one of the much bigger ones instead, that he tucked his knees into, his grey socks peeking out onto the worn leather. It frustrated him that he had left his bed but Dean couldn't judge. Whatever the kid had been through that left scars across his arms wasn't something that Dean could just wrap his arms around him and make go away as much as he was finding he wanted to. At least the kid has the sense to bring his pillow out to the couch with him, and God knows how he was sleeping on the uncomfortable springs, but he was and that's all that mattered to Dean. He shook his head, wondering when he got so soft. He blamed it on Cas's blue eyes as he slowly crept past the couch into the kitchen, taking care to be quiet as he started the coffee maker and breakfast.  
Castiel slowly rubbed his eyes open, the smell of frying bacon awakening his drowsy senses. He turned his face away from the back of the couch, pulling his legs out from underneath the oversized shirt as he tried to remember where he was, the shabby apartment around him only slightly familiar in his semiconscious state. It took him only a few moments to remember the night before, a small grimace crossing his face as he remembered the bed he had snuck out of, leaving the other occupant as well. Cas sat up gradually, sliding his arms within the shirt out of habit when the sleeves didn't cover up his forearms.

"_Bon matin_," Dean called, cracking open eggs in a liquid measuring cup before putting them individually into a bowl beside him as Castiel's dark onyx bed head surfaced from the couch.  
"Excuse me?"  
"Good morning; it's French."  
"Oh," Castiel yawned, getting up off the couch and pulling up a chair at the kitchen bar, watching his host scramble eggs. "Where did you learn that?"  
"There was this woman that would watch me and my kid brother Sammy when we were little. Our mom, Mary, died in a house fire when Sammy was a baby and I was four. Missouri was the first neighbor to help out our Dad after the accident. She was the closest thing that we had to a mom until Sam turned six and then we went to live with our Dad's friend Bobby. She was from Louisiana and had French relatives, so she often spoke phrases around us out of routine."

Dean plated the eggs and turned off the stove, taking two sets of dishes out before serving Cas a helping of bacon, eggs, and a side of toast. "Coffee or milk?"  
"Milk please." Castiel gratefully took the plate from Dean, picking up a fork. "I'm sorry for your loss."  
Dean set the glass down in front of the teenager, pulling up a chair next to him. "It's fine. Can't really remember much about her nowadays other than her smile, and that's all I care about. She had the greatest smile."

He gave a small grin to Cas to illustrate his point before picking up his own fork and eating, effectively stopping the conversation without being rude. It wasn't like him to talk about Mary, but the kid had almost an aura or natural easiness about him that made Dean want to talk about anything he would care to listen to_. You're a sap Dean Winchester. What happened to no chick flick moments?_

The two men finished their food within minutes of each other and Castiel immediately offered to do the dishes but Dean just shook his head. "Go get your shoes on and brush your teeth. There's an unopened toothbrush in the medicine cabinet in my bathroom. Go ahead and use the toothpaste on the counter. Then we'll figure out clothes and about getting the rest of your stuff from your old apartment."  
"Are you saying I'm staying here then?" Castiel asked, his arms again drawn within the shirt as he hugged them tight across his chest.  
"Yes and no; you don't get a say in it," Dean replied sharply, gathering up his mess and dropping the items in the sink, starting the hot water. "I'm not kicking you out onto the streets at nineteen with no prospects of a place to stay when I can't pay you yet. And for our jobs you can't look like a bum wearing clothes three times your body size. Now go get ready."  
The smile Dean received was like a three year old on Christmas Eve, getting caught by his older brother on his way down to try and catch Santa: it was small and crooked and hopeful and just the kind of thing he wanted to see more of. He watched the teen turn and go, bending over by the couch and picking up his shoes as he went back to Dean's bedroom. _Chick flick moment be damned; that was worth the sap._

Castiel found the toothbrush Dean had mentioned and began to get ready, slipping on his black shoes with one hand before spitting into the sink. He scrubbed his tongue free of the scum that had built up from the night before, wondering if he should look for a brush for his hair before deciding just to get it wet with his fingers. He ran some warm water and splashed it on his face, rinsing his hands under the faucet and patting down his curly tangle of hair until it looked somewhat presentable. Cas pulled the loose fabric that covered his torso up, using the bottom to dry his face, leaving the bathroom to grab Dean's shirt off the couch and change into it.  
"Thank you, Dean."  
Dean turned from his work to see the skinny teenager standing awkwardly in the large open doorway of the kitchen, his arms crossed but still showing traces of the longer raised scars that crisscrossed his skin. "You shouldn't be thanking me. I'm only doing this because you're useful you know."  
"I know. But I am thanking you because you are at least being honest about your intentions, and are going out of your way to make me comfortable here. You haven't questioned me, you haven't bullied me, and you haven't lied. So thanks."  
Dean turned back to the soapy dishes and hid a smile, "You're odd Cas. But you're welcome I guess. Right hand drawer next to me, dish towels; start drying, will ya?"  
Castiel smiled a small one that didn't reach his eyes but was a smile nonetheless for him, "Yes Dean."  
"So who was this 'assbutt' of a landlord that kicked you out without your stuff?"  
"His name is Zachariah."

* * *

After a quick trip to central Seattle, and a few choice words to the weasel of a landlord Castiel had previously lived under, Dean had most of Castiel's furniture in his backseat, the rest along with a couple of boxes of clothes in the trunk of his 67 Chevrolet Impala, with Castiel staring out the passenger window in a new outfit, the most irritating to Dean being the white long sleeved dress shirt that covered any image of his scars. Course he wasn't complaining about how well the outfit fit him, from tight black skinny jeans and a dark blue blazer over his shirt, but he felt a little disappointed that Castiel still wasn't comfortable around Dean because of his scars.

He pulled the car to a stop in his assigned parking spot, "Come on Cas. Let's make this quick. We still have to get ready for our first job together tonight."  
Castiel nodded quietly, not remembering exactly what he had signed up for. "Okay then." He helped Dean carry his property across the parking lot, unceremoniously dropping most of his stuff within the guest bedroom Dean had.

It took three trips to empty the Impala, and then the rest of the afternoon to arrange the furniture and clothes neatly away. He hung up most of his clothing in the closet, putting away left over outfits in the small bureau next to his bed. Sparse pictures of his family decorated the top of the dresser and the nightstand.  
"Who's this?" Dean asked as he sat down on the bed, picking up a photo of a teenage girl around the same age as Cas. "Girlfriend?"

Castiel shook his head when he saw the redhead. "That's my cousin Anna. She has a girlfriend though. Her name's Charlie." He unearthed another photo from one of the few boxes left, showing the two girls together.  
Dean smiled, noting the other redhead in the picture. "They look good together." He paused on two robust men. "Does that make one of these guys yours then?" He watched curiously as that smile he liked returned.  
"No. These men are family. I have five brothers. Michael and Lucifer," He pointed at the two men. "Balthazar and Gabriel, and this one," he pulled out a photo and handed it to Dean, trying to ignore the feel of Dean's fingers brushing over his with little success, "is me and my younger brother Samandriel."  
"So no girlfriend? Or boyfriend? I mean, whichever you prefer…" _Smooth._  
Castiel turned to look at Dean, a small blush rising to his cheeks. "No, I don't have a boyfriend."  
_ Stop grinning, Dean._ "Gotcha. Hey, how about we go grab some burgers and then start our job?" He asked, turning away from the icy cobalt eyes that had started to stare at him.  
"Uh… Dean?"

"Yeah?" He got up, looking back at the teenager still perched on the bed.  
"Well, I wasn't exactly listening when you explained what this job was. Could you explain it again?"  
"After dinner," Dean grinned.

Once the two had both scarfed down a Burger Barn Original and split a side of fries, Dean explained his plan to Castiel outside a local quickie mart. "Since this is your first hustle, I want you to take a five finger discount on two beers. This is a mom and pop shop without cameras so you don't have to worry about those just yet. Act natural and just browse the store. Best thing to do is to pocket your items," He reached over and straightened Castiel's worn beige trench coat, approving of the inside pockets he had found earlier, "And then pick up something small like gum and pay so it's not suspicious."  
Castiel set his jaw, hating that he was going to steal. After everything he had been through, he was going to break his pact. But he's offering you a job, and a home. "I know how to shoplift, Dean."  
Dean grinned, "Good for you. Now I'm going to teach you how to do it right. Get in there." He pushed Cas towards the door of the convenience store, hanging back for a couple of minutes before following. He didn't explain his part of the job to Cas, but he would figure it out soon enough. The guy at the counter was one of the regulars down at the gay bar Wings on the south side of town, and Dean knew that from one of the times he had sent Benny on a stake out. Don't think about Benny. He's long gone.

"Hey," Dean called as he walked in. "It's Dick right?"  
The guy at the counter perked up, smiling. "Yeah, can I help you?"

Dean grinned back, leaning on the counter. "Well thing is…"  
Castiel rolled his eyes as he watched Dean flirt relentlessly with the employee, quickly grabbing the beers and a small chocolate bar. He tapped Dean impatiently on the shoulder. "Excuse me mister, I would like to purchase something."  
"Yeah sorry kid," Dean winked at Dick before moving outta the way.  
"Thank you," Castiel muttered, staring down at the floor as Dick (such a Dick indeed) rung up the chocolate and shot him a glare.  
"Have a nice day," Dick smirked.

Castiel unwrapped the candy, taking a bite out of the corner. "You too, Dick."

He smiled back at the look of outrage on the cashier's face, sauntering out of the store. He went and stood next to the Impala in the darkened alley way across the street as Dean walked out, a stupid smile on his face as he tossed some wad of paper in the trash can next to the store.  
"You have a lot of balls for a nineteen year old," Dean smiled.  
"Thanks. Can we go now?"  
"Are you okay?" Dean looked at Cas, his hand gripped tightly around the candy.  
"I'm fine. I just want to go to bed."  
_ Is he jealous? He's cute when he's jealous._ "Sure Cas. One thing though."  
Castiel threw a scowl towards Dean, surprised when he was close enough to touch next to him. "What?"  
"You're cute when you're jealous." Dean said, hand brushing up Castiel's forearm before pulling back and getting into the car, leaving a bewildered Castiel to blush and follow slowly.

* * *

They arrived home to a practically isolated complex, and what made everything all the more ominous was the fact that every street light was out, impairing both men's visions and practically rendering them blind as Dean's hands fumbled with the hinged door.

When Dean caught wave of Cas's apprehension through his slightly trembling stature, he grasped his shoulder firmly and "reassured" him by telling him it was a decent complex, and that the only thing he had to fear was him.

With that he tossed him a wink and led him inside, the familiar stench of takeout now a welcome-home greeting. Finding his coat cumbersome, he shrugged the material off and set it on the armrest of the sofa. He stood unwavering until Dean gave him further instructions. Only, the hustler laughed at him for being so ceremonial.

"Sit down," Dean said, guiding him to the couch. Cas looked around sheepishly and sat down on the side closest to the doorway. Dean got down on his knees to meet Cas. His pea green eyes shimmered with the added, "I have a surprise for you."

Cas tilted his head in question and Dean's eyes and smile only turned wider, outlining his already beautiful face, before heading into the master bedroom. Cas's own wrinkled around his sapphires, and he caressed his lower lip with fond recollection. It was already overwhelming to think that his arms coveted to be swathed around his, but it was another to think that his lips were the object of his affection—that he, Castiel Novak, was the object of his affection.

Dean poked his head through the door-frame, "Close your eyes," he instructed, "and no peeking, I hate cheaters."

"But Dean, technically isn't your whole job cheating?" Cas smirked, his lips turning up to plow into his hands pressed firmly over his eyes.

He heard the faint rattle of Dean's laugh... then his footsteps wallowing on the kitchen tile... then his breath blowing softly through his graphic t-shirt... and for a second, all he wanted to do was surrender his soul to Dean's arms, but thought better of it when he whispered sternly to open his eyes. Before his retinas were two discs, both in his own favor: The Ring (though not the "one to rule them all" kind) and Brokeback Mountain. He eventually settled with The Ring, saving Brokeback for later. Though he liked the idea of an epic love story between two men— and though his mouth foamed at the mere thought of Heath Ledger's backside—he knew the ratio of a happy ending was a slim zero to one.

The Casanova sat across from Castiel once gathering the essential snacks for the occasion: fresh popcorn, assorted packaged candies, and two bottles of beer. The movie unfolded before their eyes, Cas almost immediately ruing his selection before finding a rather shrewd loophole. Around one of the more climatic scenes, Cas inched closer to Dean, burying his face in his shoulder blade.

"Cas?"

"I'm scared," he feigned. It didn't earn him an Oscar but indeed did a strong limb around his waist, guarding him like the night before; however this time, Dean's lips were doing the talking by kissing his forehead mightily. Cas's heart thrashed against his ribcage as Dean's eyes descended to rest on his. He delayed a curl from falling over his eyes, tucking it gently behind his ear.

"Dean," Cas said delicately, chewing on his thousandth-time splintered lip.

"Yeah?"

"You haven't told me much about yourself..."

Dean's smile, once weighing on his conscience like a bad omen, was now on his. Cas leaned into the embrace, though only to find Dean retreating just as his tongue was making its grand entrance.

"That's one thing about me: I'm full of surprises."

With his adrenaline surging through every once-jaded vein and his cranium drubbing against his skull, he was almost positive every bead of blood was drained from his face. Dean's, on the contrary, conveyed no emblem of scarlet, not even a hint of pink. In fact, the son of a bitch was grinning like a child, his eyes sifting from the television to the ground and his hands in-between his legs.

Cas leaned forward hungrily, grabbed his face in the palms of his hands and kissed him more heartily, splaying Dean's mouth and enclosing his tongue around his. Occasionally pausing to imbibe lost air, Dean's hands came to rest around Cas's midriff, gradually easing him on top of him.

The teen's hands nimbly dragged down his clad chest as Dean's elevated at a more measured pace to his forearms, raising the fabric to meet the battered flesh underneath. Goosebumps ran parallel along both arms as the familiar touch left Cas even more scorned than before. Cas clenched tighter to Dean's shirt and his lips fell like a landslide with his eyelids. He was still diffident about divulging a significant piece of his past. Dean stilled just above his wrists, kneading his skin.

He used his voice to lift his head and rested his own there. "It's okay," he breathed amiably on his mouth, "you're okay." Cradling his head with one hand and easing him with the other, Dean laid them both down on the sofa. Cas heaved a sigh, though this time, he didn't cry. Cas fell asleep like this, backside caved into the back of the couch and front into Dean's. Dean held him as if Cas's smaller physique adorned him, as if he was a fruit and Cas's hands were those that extracted his nectar, and his true colors were threadbare.

* * *

The sun ascended with the two men swathed in each other's weary presence. The teen, however, was merely stirring in his sleep, damning the daylight that caused his retinas to regurgitate miscellaneous colors. He looked like a heaven-sent cherub sheathed in a golden drape, his hands propped up just gracefully under the cushion where Dean's chest was and his warm smile that he discreetly kissed while he dreamt…

Dean hadn't prepared to be conscious before Cas, but he was glad that he was.

He moseyed on over to Cas, carrying a TV tray in one hand and a plate of steaming breakfast in the other. He crouched down just below Cas's peripheral vision and lightly prodded him with his fingers. Cas stirred again, his hips swaying him in the direction of the aroma tickling his nostrils. His eyes fluttered open when he saw Dean's beaming face just below him. "What's this?" he slurred, pushing his weight off of the furniture he was practically implanted into.

"You're going to need your strength today, so feast away."

Cas carded a hand through his disheveled mop of hair. "What for?" Then, in a more staid tone, "Oh, no what did you do?"

Dean laughed, pulling up a seat next to Cas. "Nothing—" He paused mid-sentence to retrace his steps, mostly to reassure himself. "Nothing."

"Then what is it?"

"I was just thinking that you were ready for another lesson. You exceeded my expectations for yesterday. You've obviously shop lifted before since you showed no telltale signs of nervousness had it been your first time." Dean returned to the kitchen, grabbing two forks before coming back and sitting down. "So I think you're due for a harder job tonight." He handed a fork over to Cas, smiling as he ran a couple of fingers through his bed head curls once more.

"Thanks," Cas grinned, taking in the meal Dean had made. Perfect thick and fluffy pancakes with fresh blackberries and powdered sugar stared back at him, only to be maimed by Dean's fork. Castiel tilted his head at him, one of his eyebrows slightly raised.

"I haven't been to the store. Therefore, I'm sharing the only batch of pancakes I was able to make. If you weren't so cute, you would be eating cereal right now," Dean impaled a blackberry upon his fork, shaking it free of the powdered sugar.

Castiel gave his small smile, his eyes dropping down to his breakfast before digging in as well. It wasn't long until Dean and Castiel had demolished the stacks, Dean sneakily waiting until there was one last berry before stealing it from Cas. The puppy dog eyes he received from his sleepy live in was almost good enough to fork over the prized fruit. _Almost._

"You want to shower first?" Dean asked as Castiel stretched, his fork laying abandoned on the empty plate.

"If you don't mind." Cas took in the wrinkled state of his clothes, his smile returning as he remembered Dean's arms around his waist the night before. It's not like you to be so keen about someone you just met. Not like Benny. Castiel's smile disappeared and he muttered something about not wanting to take too long in the shower as he leapt up and ran to his room. _Damnit. Why did you have to ruin everything? Dean isn't Benny. Benny is a bully. A homophobic bastard who's so deep in the closet he's chasing after the satyrs for a lay. He can't hurt you. Not around Dean._

These thoughts swirled around his head as he grabbed a change of clothes and headed to the bathroom, silently thanking Dean for towel he found on the counter. He would have to forget about Benny around Dean. He couldn't explain his scars just yet.

Dean watched in confusion as Castiel ran to his room, as if he suddenly had somewhere he needed to be, as long as it was somewhere away from Dean. _Way to be a downer, Dean. It wasn't you. You know the kid's been through some rough times. You just need to give him space._ He went and laid a towel on the bathroom counter for Cas, shaking his head. _You haven't been this protective of anyone since Benny._ Dean shook his head angrily. Cas is nothing like that punk and it would be better if he just forgets about him. He went back to the kitchen and started on the dishes, choosing instead to think about the night ahead rather than dwell on the past.

* * *

A series of three tasks were assigned to the recruit, each one more scheming than the first.

Assignment number one was some pharmaceutical store just across the complex. With trepidation and enough caffeine to marathon Ann Arbor, he barely managed to slip a generic Advil into his coat pocket. He did trip up the alarm once walking out, though his partner in crime sought to put the blame on a customer directly in front of them. Fortunately for the two men (and rather unfortunate for the poor soul), the guy was in fact stealing a much heavier drug and the store owner pinned him for his indecency on the spot, giving them enough time to slip out unnoticed.

Assignment number two was a hardware store on 58th. Before entering, Dean's hands fell on his shoulders, messaging the tense muscles and instructing that he "find his Zen". Dean didn't walk in with him because he wanted the novice to learn from his own experiences, not be codependent. Cas heaved a sigh and slipped into the store, poise more considerably refined. He sauntered on down aisle eight and this time, more gracefully glided a wrench into his coat pocket. He walked out a few seconds later—of course making sure to get as far away as possible from the large double-pane display windows— and extended the tool to Dean. Dean merely cocked his head to the side and let out a bemused snort.

Of course, he wouldn't tell the hustler that his Zen was where he was last night, wrapped in the safety of his arms.

Assignment number three was a bakery a few blocks south. The establishment was small and the objective was simple: steal Danish bread. Dean had made damn clear that anything not cherry was unacceptable. Once again, he tapped into his Zen and made his way into the store. The assortment of bread was tempting enough to steal one more item, but he tried to dispel that thought along with the aroma of the sweet desserts splayed before him. He couldn't risk it; he would permanently jeopardize both his life and his newfound friendship… yet somehow he was more worried about losing the second one. So he ended up taking the risk anyway, and surprisingly, after he handed Dean his sustenance and displayed his own personal victory, Dean wasn't mad. In fact, he was practically swimming in his own vanity, boasting about how proud he was of his "little angel".

Cas would have questioned in that moment but he too was too engrossed in his accomplishment to even bother.

Now they were parked somewhere miles away in Dean's Impala, Dean finishing the remnants of his Danish and Cas's head swerving around the vacant dirt road around them.

"Where are we?"

"We are," Dean paused to lick cherry paste from his fingertips, savoring in the last of the baked goodness, "in the middle of nowhere."

The teen's eyes narrowed. "Is this an intervention?"

Dean chuckled half-heartedly. He opened and closed the driver door before leaning against the cool black metal. Cas sat for a few seconds in confusion before Dean's voice seeped through the half-cracked window.

"You coming?"

Though it didn't clarify anything, it just about eluded every thought Cas was having about Dean… that is until he stood across from him. Slyer than a fox, Dean's hand slithered into Cas's back pocket, grazing just lightly over his ass and waded for an instant before retracting completely. Cas's head spinning with even more confusion from Dean's electrifying touch, he ran one of his hands across his arm to shield forming goosebumps… though there was nothing to shield his reddening face.

"Did you feel that?" Dean asked. _Of course I felt it you condescending prick. _"That means I screwed up."

"What are you talking about?"

Instead of answering like a decent human being, Dean seized another opportunity to touch his ass, only this time instead of lingering for as long as he had, he smacked it in one swift motion and just hard enough that Cas's back arched like a cat's. Cas whipped his head in surprise, only to find Dean holding up a prize. His eyes widened at the object in his hands and, though it was clearly no use, fumbled around in his pocket for his wallet.

"Now that's how you pickpocket someone," he said, overturning the leather in-between his fingers, "you strike quick and just when they're susceptible enough not to notice; the power is all in the wrist. The longer you linger, the shorter time it takes for them to figure out you're either mooching cash or trying to feel them up." He paused, laughing to himself, "But I don't think that would be an insult; with your looks, anyone would be dumber than shit not to do the same."

Cas was blushing profusely now, just staring at the man that the sun cast a perfect shadow upon. Between the curvatures of both his masculine jawline and his body tied in with his enigmatic personality, he would be dumbfounded if no one hit on him.

After a few minutes of just staring out at the vast scenery of nothingness, Cas found an express lane to words.

"What are we gonna do now?"

Dean pressed his finger into his chest. "You are going to pickpocket some sons a bitches," he said as if it was the most natural thing in the world, "while I am going to sit back and watch you smack unsuspecting bystanders."

"Of course," Cas replied, light sarcasm noted.

Cas nearly forgot about his wallet until Dean spoke up again just as he was getting into the car.

"Jimmy."

"What?"

"Jimmy," Dean reiterated fondly, "your middle name; it's cute."

Cas, just barely getting situated into the passenger's seat again, buried his face in his hands and shook his head furiously, obviously sheepish about the mention of his surname.

Dean noted his embarrassment and countered with "Your ass is nice too."

All color drained from his face, Cas shifted his stature to look out the window. This was definitely going to be the most excruciating car ride ever.

* * *

The bass was mind numbing, vibrating the pavement beneath Dean and Castiel's feet. After the awkward ride back, Dean ruffled through some papers littering his coffee table; there was a small neon orange paint splattered black flyer with the word "Purgatory" etched in smoky scarlet. He folded it into an airplane and threw it towards Cas, who had just entered the apartment. The teen gave a startled look as it flew scathingly close to his head, to hit the door shutting behind his shoulder. He bent down to retrieve the flyer, unfolding it to look at the faint address upon the parchment as Dean grinned, "We leave at nine."

Nine had rolled around much too quickly for Cas's liking, now drawn back to the present as he and Dean approached the hole in the wall club. Dean had made him recite false information about his age and character after issuing him a fake I.D. swearing that the way Cas dressed he wouldn't get carded, but it was better to be on the safe side. Castiel had bristled as Dean's words, taking in his appearance in the bathroom mirror before they had left. Sleek silver ash skinnies with an almost sinfully tight white long sleeve button up shirt covered his slim body, accented with a light tan blazer and matching original converses. What was wrong with the way he dressed? Other than the fact that it blatantly said 'I'm not straight'? Dean realized that his words were being taken negatively and quickly made amends, clarifying that the bouncers would more likely ask for his number than I.D. And that they did, one of them giving him a wink as the two bouncers ushered the two in without a second glance, despite Castiel's reluctance and awe of strolling right through the door, having seen the thick line of club goers waiting patiently in the cold Seattle night. Castiel pulled on Dean's hand, standing as close as he dared in the crowded Purgatory atmosphere to still have to yell to be heard in his ear, "Do you do that often?"

Dean turned around, drawing the younger man to the side of the channel of people coming and going from side booths and tables to the dance floor. He pressed him against the wall, his breath warm against his ear, "Do what?"

Castiel swallowed, willing his voice not to break, thankful for the dim lighting hiding the dark blush spreading across his face. "Walk into clubs with lines around the block like you own the place?"

"Well Cas, first the line was not around the block. Second, I am kind of big deal around here. Winchester is a name with sway." He chuckled softly, "Course knowing the owner also helps."

Castiel rolled his eyes, "Why are we here Dean?"

"You are going to pickpocket as many of these drunkards as you can manage. But I require a minimum of seven wallets before we can leave."

Castiel's stomach plummeted. _Seven? He'd have to pickpocket seven guys? Okay you can do this. And if not, you'll be living on the streets again. Fun shit. No pressure or anything, Cas._ "Fine," he muttered crossly, pushing Dean away from him. "I want something to drink."

"Certainly, sir." Dean smiled, oblivious to the turmoil in his companion as he pulled him through the thick crowd.

The bar was on the far end of the building space, which gave Castiel plenty of time to familiarize himself with the layout of Purgatory. It appeared to be a newly renovated shipping warehouse, with dark black walls highlighted with neon paint splatters. Strobe lights highlighted the large dance floor that dominated the space, giving an almost animalistic feel about the place. Club goers could be seen in dark flashes of light, their movements uneven from a distance, but it was obvious that most of the occupants moved fluidly, seductively, against whatever partner they chose to dance against. It was almost like a fight, with the moves choreographed perfectly in opposition with everyone else's. Castiel hated dancing with a passion and clubs in general; only comfortable with dancing alone in his room, but the hypnotic techno and electronic pop combo the DJ was mixing was strangely enticing. He hoped after a couple of shots of liquid courage he would be able to make that seven mark and get the hell out of this primal hellhole of a socially acceptable establishment.

Dean's hand had somehow intertwined with Castiel's during their crossing, and Cas reluctantly let it go as Dean waved the bartender over to a rare bit of space that had opened up at the overflowing bar. "Can I get two whiskeys and a shot of tequila?" He grinned at the bartender as he nodded, setting down a twenty. He handed Cas a whiskey once the drinks arrived, gesturing to the shot after he finished. Castiel rolled his eyes but let the burning malt slide down his throat in a large gulp. He set the empty glass down on the counter before knocking back the shot, trying not to grimace at the taste. He pressed the glass against Dean's chest, the hustler grinning as Cas turned and headed for the center of the dance floor.

_You're being too harsh on him. Seven marks in less than,_ Dean thought, counting the time till closing, _six hours_? _And you've only met the kid two, three days ago? _Dean shook his head, his line of sight on Cas lost in the faceless crowd. H_e's good, even you can't make seven._ Dean swallowed the last of his whiskey, making for the dance floor._  
_

It's chaos. How people could enjoy being drunk filled in a hot room with literally no personal space was beyond Castiel. Politely shoving himself through the crowd he had been ground on, felt up, and even kissed on the cheek by a redhead who then went on to make out with a girl wearing, Castiel had to double check, fairy wings and body glitter with pretty much nothing else. But it was a hustler's paradise and he quickly went to work. The best thing about his blazer, which had gotten a look of admiration from Dean, was the inside pockets that seemed to be a common thing in his wardrobe now that he thought about it. He spotted a tall baseball player sort of guy to his left and detoured towards him. The guy took in his appearance and gently grabbed his arm, pulling him close. "I'm Adam."

Castiel grinned. Oh this is going to be so much fun. "Misha." He had no idea where the name had come from, but it was better than his real one for the job. Soon they were dancing against each other and Adam's hands were making his way towards his ass. Castiel took the opportunity to slide his hands into the back pockets of Adam's jeans, quickly nicking his wallet. He kept his excitement within leaning up to Adam's ear. "I need water, be back in a bit," Adam grinned in response and nodded. And so Cas weaved towards the bar, sliding his first mark's wallet into his blazer.

Unsurprisingly he didn't find Dean where he left him. Guess you'll see him later. So Cas delved back into the fray, periodically picking easy mark's. Adam became Chuck became Matthew became Luke became Michael became Robert as the night waned towards closing. Castiel had nearly given up hope on making the minimum when he saw his seventh mark, a small flicker of an idea evident in his icy cerulean eyes. He brushed his hand against the faded army green sleeve of the guy, tugging so his body turned to face towards Castiel's back. He began to grind against him in pace to the fast dubstep beat. Strong hands moved to grip his waist and he had to bite his lip to keep from letting out a small moan. A throaty chuckle reached his ears and Castiel impulsively leaned upwards and sideways towards the sound, his lips roughly connecting to the man's as his hand slipped around to his back. He felt slightly raised from the ground, needing to stand higher as his mouth gave entrance to the foreign tongue, his mind on autopilot as he quickly snuck the wallet from the guy's back pocket, trying to capture every taste, every detail of the moment.

The song had ended and the DJ announced last call before Dean broke the embrace, a Cheshire cat smile spreading lazily on his face. "Hey Cas."

"Hello Dean."

Dean slowly disentangled Cas from his position they were in, sliding his arm down to grasp his hand. "Make my minimum?"

Castiel gave his elusive smile back, just nodding.

"Let's go home then."

Dean led Cas back to the car, opening the passenger side door for the teen. Cas pulled on the edge of Dean's collar, bringing his lips back against his own. "Anthony is a suitable middle name for you Dean."

* * *

Standing erect was a foreign concept to the teenager by the time it hit midnight. Dean couldn't comprehend it; the kid didn't drink, showed practically no interest in drugs—which he could obtain in short order if he did happen to want them—and was definitely too young to have credibility in the sexual department to be this boisterous at such an ungodly hour of the night.

Then again, he hadn't hijacked over half a dozen wallets in less than an hour. And for a kid fresh off the street with no dollar to his time, that would be a pretty huge accomplishment. He still didn't know much about the kid's home life but arbitrating from the extensive scars across his forearms, he could only imagine the hell he's been through. The world can be cruel; Cas hadn't had the occasion, luckily, to see his own waning scars surfacing his inner thighs.

But like Cas, he presumed, those days were years behind him. He'd like to think he was the reason for Cas's happiness at the moment, albeit that meant not having the privilege to boast about it.

No, he hadn't been as lucky as Cas was tonight, but that he could recall one particular scene that allowed him to connect with Cas.

"_One more round for my partner," a raspy voice chimed to the bartender, clutching Dean's shoulder firmly. The bartender wore her hair in tight blonde ringlets that framed her olive-skinned face, and brought out the chocolate tint in her hazel eyes. She smiled at the two men and meandered to the island behind her, pouring another shot of whiskey. Dean was such a light-weight._

"_Benny Lafitte, I knew I smelt the stench of pussy!" _

_Benny grinned, turning around to find Alistair, a longstanding crony. He shoved impishly between his shoulder blades, urging the rowdy man to his feet. He greeted him with the proper guy-hug: the clasping of the hands, and a drawn-out embrace. "How are you, man?"_

_Benny nodded followed by a curt "good", and settled beside Dean once again, who wasn't even halfway finishing his first shot. Alistair stepped back brusquely as if Cujo was ready to bite off his penis. _

"_Benny, man, you're hanging with cocksuckers now?" Benny noted the apprehension in his voice and heaved a sigh. _

"_Al, there's no need for an intervention here," Benny advised, jaw tightening. Dean could practically feel the tension just by the weight of his back against his chest; every muscle was becoming inelastic and his breathing had accelerated within the short few seconds that Alistair approached them. "He's my friend—"_

"_He ain't nobody's friend, Ben! He's a cocksucking cunt."_

_Dean tried to say something, anything, but Benny was already pinning the man to the wall and ensnaring him in a chokehold. A few bystanders craned their heads instantaneously to the action while few actually tried to haul Benny off of Alistair. But Benny persisted to fight back, elbowing whoever got in his way. Alistair was practically blue in the face. _

"_Say you're sorry," he grunted through his own reddening face. He uttered two words, though not the ones Benny was looking for. He hoisted the scrawny man higher until he couldn't take anymore. _

"_Okay… okay," he managed through short oblivions caused by lack of circulation. _

Though the apology was barely audible through his nasal voice, it was good enough for not only Benny, but for the undergrad with two cents to his name. If there was ever any moment in his life that Dean felt victimized or misconstrued, it was resolved by that one moment, by just one purge in time that changed his life forever.

"Dean…" Cas's voice tolled throughout the apartment and resounded in Dean's ears. Dean was definitely starting to rue the half-assed decision of putting that congratulatory beer in his hands. He was fumbling and stumbling over every possible square inch of the place. _And I thought I was the light-weight._

He couldn't deny, though, how completely endearing he looked, tossing around his weight around like a rag doll.

He placed a steady hand on his shoulder. His sapphire eyes brighter, pupils more dilated than he'd remembered, and deducing between the weight times the effort it took to hold the bottle, he was less than a few inches away from finishing the beverage. "Are you alright, Cas?"

A contorted chuckle emitted the smaller man's mouth. "I like it when you call me that…"

He put his hands to use, cupping them around his neck and dragging them south, stopping just above his crotch, eyeing it fancifully, drinking in every aspect of the restrained muscle. "I think we should get you to bed—"

Cas silenced him, pressing his lips to his before trialing southbound once more, consuming his throat. Dean subdued his moans, urging him back lightly. He wanted to vie the itch that he couldn't scratch, the sudden impulse looming deep inside him, but the more he resisted, the more his temptations consumed him, suspending his rational thought process…

He clawed deeper into the hems of his sleeves as Cas's stature fell with him, grinding against the hardest parts of Dean's body. His heart pounded in sync with his throbbing crotch, as his mind concocted new cock-numbing fantasies…

"Do you like this, Dean?" Cas asked enticingly, dipping just below his peripheral vision. _No,_ he soundlessly reprimanded, _you can't do this; you can't and you will __**not **__take advantage of the poor boy._ "I know you think of me as a child," Cas said, as if casting an eye over his deepest thoughts, "I can prove to you that I'm just as man as you are inside those pants of yours…"

He could feel Cas's breathing decelerating against his abdomen and caught him before he could lose his balance completely. He heaved him in his arms only to find his eyes padlocked and his mouth, drool pooling at the corner. Dean laughed lightly, careful not to rattle his chest against Cas's, and tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, kissed him on the forehead.

"C'mon, Braveheart," he whispered over his shoulder, "time for bed."

* * *

Sleeping next to Cas was one thing; sleeping next to an intoxicated Cas, however, was a completely different thing. Dean had never heard so many noises from one man in his entire life, granted that he slept next to quite a few. His arms thrashed through the night like a poor man would for a scarce piece of bread. His mouth aped few words, mumbling in the stillness things of profane nature. Occasionally his irises dilated, but it wouldn't be before too long that his eyelids came to rest again, veiling the sapphires that cause the inexplicable nightmares. Dean smiled down at the boy he was cradling lightly in his arms. It was astounding how well Cas fit against his six-foot stature. Everything was perfectly accommodating: his warm head resting in Dean's collarbone, thighs trodden in his pelvis and legs knotted with his, coming short just above his ankles. He dared not to sift an inch through the restless night if it meant Cas getting a good night's rest—Lord knows that he needs it to obliterate his actions from last night.

"Morning Sleeping Beauty," he drummed against his earlobe. Cas stirred out of the grasp of the taller man, trundling over the sheets.

Cas batted at his eyes, as if to banish the bleakness of the morning. "How long was I out?"

"Just about ten hours," Dean chuckled, shifting his weight to his arms to straddle Cas, "but who's counting?"

Cas's indignant snort was silenced by the soft sounds of Dean's tongue sweeping across the bridge of his mouth. The smaller man returned the embrace, enclosing his mouth over his and draping his arms around Dean's neck. Cas pursued, pushing further down to coat the bottom of Dean's flesh with his salivate. Dean parted only to open his eyes to a gloating Cas. Cas pulled him down again by the shirt collar, engulfing Dean into the oblivion once more. Hearts lashing in the cage of their chests, they both played the role of the pursued—

A rapping came from the front door. Both men groaned in unison, intimacy clearly broken. Dean reluctantly peeled himself from Cas, straightened his disheveled beater, and swung his legs over the bed—now in pursuit of the nuisance that soiled the moment. Greeting him as the door swung open was a more than acquainted friend. Dean's voice waned searching for an appropriate response.

"What the f—"

"Nice to see you too, brother," Benny whistled, eyeing the hustler with flecked curiosity. Dean was doing the same, though his curiosity was a cross between marvel and trepidation. Benny—_his_ Benny—standing outside his doorstep unharmed, unfazed; a free man. _How was it possible? _"Are you gonna stand there like a stiff or are you gonna give me a hug?"

Dean surged forward, swallowing Benny in a tight embrace. Benny smiled against Dean's shoulder before Dean pulled away first; though not quick enough that Castiel hadn't seen.

Cas had been perched around the corner as the commotion died down, inquisitive as to its origin. He had to cover his mouth to blanket words from spilling out. He couldn't believe what he was seeing: Dean in the arms of Benny Lafitte. The same man who had downright repudiated him for years without a reason; the same man whose actions were forever engraved in his forearms.

"Benny, h—how did you get out?" Dean stammered. Benny pushed his way into his apartment, coming short of his couch. Cas moved as quickly as he could out of sight. If it hadn't been for Dean's broad stature, he would have been sought out like an atheist in a congregation.

"Ah, a good magician never reveals his secrets," Benny said, pitching him a crafty wink. Dean's arms shot out from hanging paralyzed at his sides.

"_Are you fucking insane?!_" Dean yelled, voice rising over the stillness of the moment, "We're hustlers; we don't escape the pen! We don't even _get_ into the pen in the first place!"

Benny seemed almost offended by Dean's lack of exhilaration. He got up and crossed the floor, eventually coming to rest a few inches from Dean's face, cheeks stripped from its olive tint. "I did this for you, man! I did everything for you!"

"You made your decision, Benny. If you think I would do _this _for you too you have another thing coming."

"Look _bitch,_" Benny cursed, shoving him hard against the wall, "before you met me you were nothing; _nothing. _If don't show me some respect, you'll be back burying yourself six feet in your own queer shit."

There was a time when Benny's breath spilling down his neck was par for the course; now it was more than unnerving. This wasn't the Benny that he knew: it was the Benny that he had veiled behind his coveting for him. His fingers latched onto the seams of Dean's shirt collar, fingernails digging into his skin. Benny was also using his hips to grind into his stomach, impeding his circulation. Dean, however, remained unwavering, stoic of the other man's actions. He couldn't exactly say he hasn't been in this sort of predicament before. He solely shook his head as best he could and pursed his lips as if in deep thought. His eyes narrowed into Benny's indigo ones and he made damn sure his mouth was close enough to his face so he could stare in absolute wonder.

"You're the dick, the one who ruined his life, aren't you?" he began, eyes widening in realization, "You're the one who plagued his soul with doubt and fear; why? Because you won't admit that you're just as afraid of yourself? _Do you honestly think anyone gives a flying fuck that you're broken_?" He spat the words out like a cannonball, envy coursing through his heavy chest. Benny knew he was talking about the boy he saw through the bedroom window; though knew little of Dean's whereabouts with him up until this point. He practically hissed the last sentence. "You're nothing, Benny Lafitte_."_

* * *

Outside, standing as close to the edge of the balcony as possible, was none other than nineteen year old Castiel Novak. At this point, Castiel falling was the least of his concerns. A three hundred foot descent, give or take, would be nothing compared to the price he would pay for his own sentence. His mind couldn't fathom anything at the moment; it felt like he was blanketed by his own thoughts; he couldn't exactly have a one track mind about this.

_Why would Dean sacrifice his newfound relationship—a _healthier_ one at that, for an old flame? Flames die, flames combust, but occasionally… flames ignited again._

He sighed, suppressing tears in the back of his eyes. It was right about now that he could go for a cigarette, merely to crush the memory of Dean's flame.

"Cas…" He wasn't sure if his name was meant to sound like a query or a general statement. Either way, he hadn't turned around to face him. "You don't have to worry about him; he was just an old friend."

"Yeah, some friends you have," Castiel muttered, bracing his hands on the railing. Dean was probably giving him his renowned deer-in-the-headlights stare that Cas thought was absolutely adorable with those big emeralds widening, glistening like… _get a grip, dumbass._

Little did Cas know that Dean's face actually fell, lips crashing against each other a few times in search of words. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Cas's eyes narrowed before he swung his body in a full one-eighty. "How did you know_?"_

"I saw you peering from the doorframe," Dean paused, letting that statement sink in before relinquishing the next. "You had the same expression when I found out about your cuts," he said coyly, scratching behind his head.

"And you still gave him a hug?" he raged, face red, "You still chose to embrace him even after you saw me looking straight at you—?"

"Cas, look around you, where is he?" Dean said brusquely. Cas shared the same pained expression, casting a panoramic glance into the living space. The area was vacant, minus the cool breeze that swept through the arcadia door. "I took him into my arms because I thought he was the same person as he was when I met him," he said, then, more gravely, "turns out I was right." His front teeth ran over his bottom lip, grinding on the flesh bitterly. "He denied that he ever hurt you. I would have hurt him but that wouldn't have made me any better."

Cas nodded slowly, wary of the answer to the question he was about to ask. "Were you two… together?"

"_Benny…"_

_Benny craned his head to meet the lingering gaze of the twenty-something. Dean had to forcibly remove his eyes from the older man. "What's up, man?"_

"_I'm not exactly a touchy-feely guy…but I just wanted to thank you for standing up for me back there," he told him. "And there's been something I've been meaning to tell you, I—"_

_Sirens wailed in the nearby distance. Feds curbed the bar just as Alistair unsheathed his bloodied self to the blazing lights. Benny whistled low, voice nonchalant. "We gotta roll." Dean had little time to react before he was scrambling for the streets. Benny gave him a head start, and more than notably groped his ass—to get him ahead or to hint at something Dean wouldn't know until later that night when Benny flashed his wallet in front of him. Although, he couldn't deny the grin that was plastered his face after he had done so._

"He changed." Cas said in an undertone, mostly to himself. Dean had heard him clear enough to take a few steps forward.

"No, he hasn't," he said sternly, eyes staring forlornly into the distance. "He's always been the same hypocrite. That's what happens when you think you're in love I guess; you get kind of blindsided."

"'Think you're in love'? So does that mean—?"

"That I love _you_, Castiel Novak?" Dean said, shifting his focus to the curly-haired boy in front of him. He curtailed the cumbersome breach between them, substituting it instead with a soft kiss. He cupped both of his hands around his neck to brace his actions as he continued relentlessly to do so, sliding his tongue in without as much as a granted entrance. Cas submitted nonetheless, finding familiar comfort in his embrace.

"Does this mean that I can stay?" he asked, grinning playfully against his lips.

"It's your choice." Dean returned the smile and reached for Cas's hand hanging nimbly at his side, strangely similar to the night that they first met. "You always have a choice, Cas."

**-FIN-**


End file.
